**spoiler alert** The flaw with Jude the Obscure is neither its theme nor its characters. The flaw is with the narrative, which, slowly-paced, is only**spoiler alert** The flaw with Jude the Obscure is neither its theme nor its characters. The flaw is with the narrative, which, slowly-paced, is only lengthened by the vacillation of Hardy's characters.

At first, I empathized with young Jude Fawley. An intellectual at heart, even as a child, he dedicates himself to becoming an autodidact and strives to gain admittance to the university. His plans hit a snag when he allows himself to be seduced by the attractive Arabella, who tricks him into marriage by faking a pregnancy. Marital woe ensues, the couple separates, and Jude falls for his cousin, Sue Bridehead. Still, even when it seems like he has everything he wants, Jude fails to be happy, and tragedy dogs him at every step. I don't think it will spoil anything to mention that Jude's fate is the same as most of Hardy's main characters. That man just can't bear to give his stories a happy ending!

Much of Jude's misfortune originates from external stimuli, yet Jude often fails to stand up for his beliefs. This results in most of his marital strife (in both relationships) and his failure to realize his intellectual dream.

The theme of unfulfilled intellectual ardour particularly fascinates me. If I hadn't been born into a situation where I had the opportunity to get an education, get a job, go on to university, would I be like Jude? Despite his most earnest attempts to educate himself, Jude eventually becomes bitter about both universities and the church. Hardy seems to be creating a dichotomy out of society: you can be a happy intellectual or a happy working man, but a working man intellectual can never be satisfied. While I don't think that's as true today as it was in Victorian times, it still contains a nugget of wisdom: too much compromise, too much vacillation, means you can never be happy. This moral bears out in Hardy's other major motif, marriage.

Modern readers must remember that the norms around marriage in Victorian society differed from what we consider normal today. We seldom bat an eye at divorce anymore, whereas it was highly controversial in the Victorian era. Jude the Obscure met with considerable opposition, particularly from the clergy, some of whom publicly burnt copies of the novel.

However, the book itself isn't an attack on the institution of marriage (nor is it a particularly affectionate affirmation). Hardy instead shows us two examples of where a hasty marriage is a mistake and one example of where hesitation--and eventual failure--to marry proves the relationship's downfall. Jude hastily marries Arabella when she claims she's with child, yet it soon becomes clear that their inclinations are incompatible. When Jude succeeds in persuading Sue to live with him "as his wife" but fails in persuading her to marry him, he lays the ground for her eventual abandonment of him in favour of her first husband. Jude continually acts based on what he believes will make him happy; Sue attempts to act based on what she believes is her duty going as far as to impose harsh penance upon herself for perceived wrongs. Neither of them succeeds in achieving happiness or satisfaction.

I was kind of disappointed that Jude ended up with Arabella in the end, although I was not at all surprised. Nor was I surprised when Arabella tricked him into marrying her (again, this time plying him with alcohol instead of sex!) and then she regretted it afterward. Interestingly enough, it's fair to say that Jude and Sue both change over the course of the book, but Arabella does not. She remains transient, always searching for the next man, the next lifestyle. First she marries Jude, then she takes up with a man in Australia, whom she follows back to England and persuades into marriage. Once he dies, she remarries Jude after he separates from Sue. She seldom shows any concern for others beyond how their situation affects hers; even her sadness over her own child's suicide is ... a formality.

I can't help but wonder how much of Arabella's character is of her own choosing and how much was forced upon her by circumstance. At first, I felt some sympathy for her when she and Jude were courting. Jude gradually becomes disillusioned with his first love as she reveals that she is not quite as pure as he might like to think: her long hair is merely an extension, and she once worked as a barmaid in a pub! Indeed, Hardy never comes right out and says that she lied to Jude about being pregnant--her friend Annie, who originally suggested getting pregnant as a means of snaring Jude, plants this suspicion in our minds when she congratulates Arabella on being so cunning. Thus, it's possible to paint Arabella in a more sympathetic light if one chooses to believe she actually thought she was pregnant. I suspect she was just manipulating Jude, however. Her later actions prove she's not beyond manipulating men for her own designs.

The other major female character, Sue, differs greatly from Arabella. This is probably part of her attraction for Jude: her perceived chastity and devotion to the arts and education is an antithesis to Arabella's worldliness and pragmatism. In Sue, Jude looks for an escape from the oppressive realism of his first marriage and his day job as a stonemason. Yet Sue also manipulates Jude, confessing that she would have him love her even though she doesn't (at first) love him. Although this may seem like a rather derogatory portrayal of women at first glance, it's more social commentary than misogyny: Sue, living alone in the city, must get by with whatever advantages she has; her beauty is one of them.

On the level of social commentary, Jude the Obscure focuses a great deal on the notion of upward mobility. Women, of course, have the option of "marrying up" on the basis of their charm; Sue does this to an extent with Phillotson. Men, on the other hand, as exemplified by Jude, are typically stuck in their social position, particularly if they're of the working class. Hardy is very critical of the inflexibility of the English educational system. At the same time, if a man doesn't have a "proper" marriage, it can cost him his job--this happens to Phillotson after he allows Sue to leave him and "live in sin" with Jude. Both sexes are painfully aware of their limited options in terms of moving up in society; Phillotson and Arabella alike are given to "plotting" how they can further advance themselves.

Jude the Obscure is profound in the sense that most of Hardy's work is profound: it's a polemical novel in which the characters are part metaphor and part people. However, as a narrative it falls short of being entertaining. Both its length and its repetitive plot structure are daunting and undermine the book's true strength--its characters. As Hardy's last novel, it's worth examining Jude the Obscure in the context of his oeuvre. I would not recommend it to first-time Thomas Hardy readers though....more

In Areopagitica, John Milton delivers a finely-honed argument in opposition to the Licensing Order of 1643, which restored strict censorship laws to EIn Areopagitica, John Milton delivers a finely-honed argument in opposition to the Licensing Order of 1643, which restored strict censorship laws to England. Milton relies primarily on classical references; indeed, the title is an allusion to the Areopagus, a hill in Athens and the name of a council who sat in judgement on that hill. In a single word, Milton links the crux of his argument to the zeitgeist of Hellenic antiquity, which held a great fascination for learned individuals of the seventeenth century.

Milton's main argument concerns the fact that other societies, particularly Greece and Rome, did not employ censorship laws yet flourished nonetheless. In fact, Milton maintains that censorship represses society by stifling innovation and discourse and debate. He goes on to demonstrate that even if one could find incorruptible, pure jurors to study potential works for publication, it would still be a very daunting and unfeasible task.

In addition to his classical references, Milton draws heavily on supporting evidence in the Bible. This method of attack also underscores an important difference between Milton's perspective on "free speech" and what we con temporarily associate with "free speech." Milton's primary concern is the search for knowledge; he's interested in the Truth as an expression of divine purity. As a result, Milton isn't opposed to censorship outright--he remarks, for instance, that books may be burned after publication should they be deemed unfit for public consumption. Rather, Milton merely advocates against pre-judging a work before the public has a chance to judge.

Almost four hundred years old now, Areopagitica is nonetheless still a very relevant document today. Its name, and Milton's very academic tone, may deter some people from trying to read it. However, it's pertinent to several issues in modern culture--freedom of speech is one, as noted above, and it also pertains to the ongoing debate over the role of copyright in digital media. While copyright and censorship are distinct devices, both share in common the need to have control over a work; both, as Milton points out with regards to the latter, have the potential to harm a society even as they supposedly work to protect it. By understanding historical attitudes toward censorship, I have a better respect for the nuances of the issues we face today.

As an argument, Areopagitica is intriguing and valuable. As a composition, it's masterful. Milton employs a very stable structure with a clear introduction, in which he outlines the shape of his argument. In addition to his use of allusion, he goes out of his way to compliment his audience--i.e., the Parliament of England--always punctuating his arguments with, "And surely esteemed men such as yourselves" and so on. This is not a loud-mouthed soapbox rant but a very rational work of art, and that's what makes it so powerful.

Although I enjoyed almost all of Areopagitica, there is one part where I must disagree with Mr. Milton--that is, I would argue that one of his points is flawed. As he approaches the end of his speech, Milton opines for freedom of religion--save popery and superstition, obviously, or any such practices as may be deemed harmful to society--those religions should be "extirpated". He never gives any indication of who may determine what types of religious practice society may tolerate. Since Catholicism is only recently overthrown in England (a few decades is brief compared to its long reign before Henry VIII's intercession), England is no stranger to religious upheaval. It's almost a betrayal of one of Milton's earlier points, where he argues that even the best-intentioned of men may not be able to adequately judge the suitability of a work for print--here he seems content in young Protestantism's ability to judge if a religion is acceptable or not.

It's very interesting reading rational works by religious authors from previous ages, now that we're in an increasingly secular era. Biblical allusions can be a powerful ally, but religions have also been overused for justification of a myriad of Very Bad Ideas. It's a fine line these authors walk; Milton walks it with great skill.

Areopagitica is an excellent piece of rhetoric--a well-reasoned argument can be a pleasure to read, or to listen to, as the case may be....more

Do you have a brick wall handy? Because hitting your head against that would be a more productive and more enjoyable experience than listening to TheDo you have a brick wall handy? Because hitting your head against that would be a more productive and more enjoyable experience than listening to The Unincorporated Man as an audiobook. This was the only format in which it was available through my library. Audiobooks are not my preferred format for reading. They can definitely be great if you have good material and a good narrator. The narrator here, Todd McLaren, wasn’t bad—but even he couldn’t make this book sound interesting. Even at 2.5x speed it took me a week to get through this, because I did not want to subject myself to yet another sermon. I only finished it because I knew I would enjoy writing this review—call it necessary catharsis—and, yeah, I kind of wanted to see how it ended.

The Kollins’ writing … let’s see, how can I best describe this? Imagine Ayn Rand and Robert Heinlein having a dinner party together. (They each brought their own meal because it’s in their enlightened self-interest not to take food from their own mouths to share with another. Little did they know that they would suffer from food poisoning because the unregulated food market cut corners.) Terry Goodkind would be proud of the length of some of the speeches in this book.

Surprisingly it isn’t the philosophy itself that makes The Unincorporated Man so unequiovcally awful. I’m not as libertarian as Justin Cord or, presumably, his authors—but I certainly balk at the idea of personal incorporation. I share Justin’s repugnance at the idea of owning stock in another human being, collecting dividends on their earnings, having a say in where they live. The Kollins chose a great time in which to write and publish this book, because I am one of many people concerned about the way in which corporations exercise their power in our society. Personal incorporation might sound silly right now, but this is a dystopia I could see happening in one of our possible futures. So in this respect, the Kollins have certainly created a credible bogeyman.

But their terrible writing ruins any chances the book has of being compelling science fiction.

I am reminded of For Us, the Living, a Heinlein novel I read in my halcyon youth long before Goodreads. I don’t remember much about it, except that younger!Ben was super-impressed by Heinlein’s economic philosophies that appeared to create a utopian future. I suspect that present!Ben would be less impressed were I to revisit it. Superficially, The Unincorporated Man is strikingly similar: a man wakes up after a few centuries of stasis and discovers a supposedly “better” world with radically different economic policies. He then spends most of the book being lectured by a female companion, who is happy to explain not only the differences but the intricate details of how the systems function and how they came about.

It has been a long time since I’ve seen such a textbook example of terrible exposition. Justin, understandably, has a question about how this brave new world works. His companions don’t deliver the simple, curt answer one might expect. Oh, no. They initiate multi-page Socratic dialogues. Scenes that should be short and sweet play out like first-year university lectures on political science or economic game theory. Every character in this book is incredibly well-versed in the economic underpinnings of their society and willing to spout on about those underpinnings at length to Justin without much prompting whatsoever. The end result is that one can’t get more than a page or so ahead without hearing a lecture about how market forces are superior to government intervention or blah … blah … blah.

Look, the point of a philosophical novel is to edify through the plot and characters, not use them as transparent mouthpieces. Only Sophie’s World can get away with that shit, and that’s because it’s Norwegian and awesome, OK?

The Kollins also make the classic Goodkind mistake of letting their hero make big speeches about how his libertarian views are inherently superior to everyone else’s. Also, this gives him the moral superiority that allows him to ignore explicit threats to his friends and loved ones and shrug off any possibility that they might be harmed because he does whatever the fuck he wants—’cause he’s a libertarian badass, yo. Justin Cord could give Richard Rahl a run for his money with some of these speeches about how it’s tyranny to force an individual to do anything “for the greater good”. So what if Neela or Omad get hurt in the process? At least he has his principles!

Seriously, by the end of the book I was actually hoping Justin would give in and incorporate. I hate the idea of incorporation, but I was starting to feel uncomfortable hanging out with this guy. He strikes me as the sort of person who would let the Joker blow up that boat of refugees just because he doesn’t want to let the Joker impose his will on Justin. (I know Justin explicitly condemns violent acts, but he seems fuzzy about this whole violence through inaction concept.)

Related to this pervasive problem of infodump is the Kollins’ inexcusable abuse of the omniscient narrator to compound the problem with yet another layer of exposition. As a fan of Victorian novels, I’m more used to the omniscient narrator than readers of more modern novels might be. Yet even I was shocked by the heavy-handed way in which the Kollins use their narrator to flesh out characters’ backgrounds, thoughts, and feelings. Much in the same way that a single question from Justin could trigger pages of explanation, a single, unasked question from the reader would somehow prompt the narrator to go on—at length—about history or politics or current events.

The one lesson about writing you must take away from The Unincorporated Man is that less is more. The hard part about writing is not transmitting information to the reader but deciding what information to leave out to make the story work. The Kollins clearly haven’t mastered this yet.

Speaking of narration, can we talk about how, upon introducing a new character, the narrator immediately comments about their appearance? I don’t mean the narrator describes how the character looks; the narrator gives a judgement about the character’s looks and sex appeal. The women are invariably objectified through the male gaze. I question the Kollins’ conviction that cheap and abundant nanotechnology means everyone is going to be young and beautiful—if anything, it seems to me like that’s a recipe for allowing people to “let themselves go,” secure in the knowledge that nanites can fix them up and make them beautiful again at any point. But that’s their choice, of course, and I digress. I just wish they could introduce a woman without talking about how she’s, you know, average-level good looking for that society, but people would totally sleep with her anyway. Thank you, so much, for that crucial information.

I was looking for a book that imagined a future in which corporate capitalism has been taken even further than it has in our world. The Unincorporated Man is such a book. It is also boring, terribly written, and not worth your time.

I leave you with a rare image, because the Robot Devil really does say it best:

I received this audio book as a gift from a coworker; she had acquired it for (she says) a quarter at a flea market. Whatever the monetary value, howeI received this audio book as a gift from a coworker; she had acquired it for (she says) a quarter at a flea market. Whatever the monetary value, however, this book is a little piece of history to me. It is perhaps the most tangible connection I will ever have to the BBC radio series of h2g2.

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy as narrated by Stephen Moore is a wholly different experience than any other edition of Hitchhiker's. Of course, this is true of every edition of h2g2--it changed with each medium (anyone who has read the books and listened to the radio series, or seen the movie and read the books, knows what I'm talking about). The difference in this case is that the story did not change, but suddenly it has a context: it's narrated by an Englishman.

Stephen Moore has a history with h2g2; he was not just some random English actor chosen for the role. And in fact, he is perfect as the narrator. Hitchhiker's takes on a life of its own under his narration.

I suppose I should at this point note that I enjoy audio books. Not everyone does. And it's true that they are largely hit-or-miss--the book requires a good narrator, or else it ruins your experience of the story. However, audio books are both an enjoyable and a practical experience. You can listen to audio books when ordinary reading is out of the question (trust me: reading and driving do not mix). So when I extol the virtues of this audio book, it is from the standpoint of someone who will actually listen to audio books. If you dislike audio books (or if you don't own a cassette player...), I'm not sure this one is good enough to make you change your mind.

If you like h2g2, however, I would definitely recommend listening to this if you ever get a chance. Even if you've heard the radio series, this is slightly different, because it is the book. It's nice if you've a quiet night at home with nothing much else to do. Make a cup of tea, pop this in the tape player (yes, those still exist), and press play....more